I believe in things that don't exist.

Ikea Scene, (500) Days of Summer

Thu, 12 Nov 2009 11:00:30 GMT

I just watched this today, and I'm in love. The perfect blend of cynicism and romance and destiny.

It's on my Tumblr too, in case you're interested: here :)

An Atonement Picspam.

Mon, 14 Sep 2009 12:33:17 GMT

Briony Tallis is one of my favourite characters because she's so flawed. She way she gives a 'happy ending' to the two people whose lives she destroyed is just so heartbreakingly frustrating it makes me want to hit her and hug her at the same time. I needed screencaps from Atonement for a film project of mine, so I just decided to compile them into a short picspam :)

Thu, 03 Sep 2009 11:05:35 GMT

CSI isn't always associated with that warm, fuzzy feeling in your stomach, but this scene had me swooning. CSI's usual colour palatte is really dark, and this scene is just so light and happy with its yellows and whites. It's the single cutest scene in the entire series (and the best part of S8). Nervous!Grissom + Giddy!Sara = A happy fangirl. I know this layout isn't the best for picspams, so here's a little unconventional method of doing it. Enjoy ♥

Please, if you want to repost it, let me know. I found my Taylor Swift (You Belong With Me) one floating all over Tumblr uncredited :/

Taylor Swift in Turn, Turn, Turn.

Sun, 19 Jul 2009 03:48:19 GMT

My favourite TV show and my favourite singer get together, so how can I not picspam this? ♥

Taylor Swift's You Belong With Me

Thu, 16 Jul 2009 06:15:35 GMT

Part C

Sat, 13 Jun 2009 08:54:53 GMT

Part A // Part B

“I’m not ready to say goodbye.”

A hint of a smile touches his
lips, and she plays with the hem
of his shirt absentmindedly.

“Why?” he asks, looking straight
at her.

She shrugs and climbs onto the
bed, feeling cool sheets and warm
arms envelop her.

“There’s still so many things left to
do, so many places left to see. “

So many ghosts
left to exorcise.

“And there are still so many things I
don’t know about you.”

She meets his eyes and dares herself
not to look away.

“You know the best parts, believe me.”

Blue threatens to exorcise secrets
unwillingly and she has to turn away.

“I want to see
the real you,
Sara.”

He pulls her carefully to face
him once again.

“Please.”

She inhales deeply, hoping and
trying to find the courage from
deep within.

“If I tell you, will you still be
here tomorrow?”

“Even if you don’t tell me,
I’ll still be here tomorrow.”

“Okay,” she breathes and
unleashes the sceptres,
bringing onto herself either
her saving grace or downfall.

TBC.

A/N2: I know this piece is very different from Part 1 of the story, but my muse threw this at me and I decided to run with it. It started off GSR-centered, but now it's based more around Sara and her past. Nevertheless, I hope you'll stick along with this story until the end, guys :)

Part B

Sat, 13 Jun 2009 08:25:09 GMT

Part A

--

She closes the Lester file and
leans back on the black chair
in the break room, all alone.

                Maybe she should stop by Grissom’s
                office.

                         Maybe he has already gone home.

Maybe he doesn’t want to see her.

Maybe he’s nervous.

Maybe she’s nervous.

Maybe she’s tired of all the maybes.

She really doesn’t want to talk,
because who knows what kinds
of demons will show themselves?

Love, something that brings such
pleasure with such pain; it
wrecks havoc with her head.

She arrives home eventually,
and pulls on comfy grey sweats
and a camisole. She’s trying to
lose herself in a crossword puzzle,
pen in hand when the doorbell
buzzes.

“Come in,” she says, filling in
nineteen across.
Smother.
He enters her apartment, tired
eyes and car keys in hand but looking
incredibly good for a man just off his
second shift.

She unconsciously sticks the top
of the pen into her mouth,
making perfect little marks
into black plastic.

It is a bad habit she (thought she) had
broken after coming to Vegas, along
with puffing cancer sticks.

“Hey,” he says softly, making her heart
palpitate for no apparent reason.

“Hey,” she says, pulling the pen
from her mouth and wiping it
across her shirt, watching him
cross her parquet floors.

Her eyes are trained on him, his
shoulders, his eyes, his stride,
his mouth, and she sighs inwardly.

Some habits are harder to break
than others.

He sits next to her, seemingly
at aloss for words.

“Sara,” he speaks,

and the way he says her name,
like it’s a blessing and a curse.
It never – from the first coffee they’d
shared together in San Francisco till
right this very second – fails to make her
want to walk away and kiss him hard at
the same time.

She resists the urge to bite the pen
again, choosing to speak instead.

“It’s okay.”

A flash of something highlights
his features and she bites her
lip and winces inwardly.

“Stop it, Sara.”

She feigns surprise.

“What?”

                 “This,” he says, gesturing
                 to the space between them.
                 “Stop letting me off the hook.”

“I’m…I’m not.”

He leans in closer to her.
“Then what is it?”

“I just don’t like
confrontations.”

It’s not the whole truth,
but it’s a tiny piece of
the messy, complicated
puzzle of her life.

His eyes soften and the
realisation dawns in
his eyes.

“I will never disagree with
you with my hands, Sara.”

“I know,” she
says, but
she doesn’t tell

him

that

was

what

always

said.

--

It doesn’t feel right, but
the urge to tell him she
loves him hits her in the most
unexpected places:

a dark living room with fingerprint powder
hanging in the air;

in a park with 100 watt spotlights beaming
over a decomposing body;

in the morgue, where glassy-eyed victims
stare, where her breaths are almost
visible in the cool air.

She imagines it’s because she had fallen
in love with Lecturer Grissom first,
where hypothetical crime scenes
and entomological timelines were what
defined him.
                                                                                                                Lecturer Grissom,
whose blue eyes and bright mind
sealed the deal.

After that she fell in love with
Supervisor Grissom, along with
his dark eyes and hermit-like tendencies;
his latex gloves and
Red Creeper print powder.

Supervisor Grissom,

with his push-pull game of attraction
that drove her to the very edge and
back.

It’s only been months since she has
fallen in love with Gil Grissom, the man who
takes her to secluded restaurants
where he speaks his mind.

Hardly anything Gil
says needs to be analysed,
unlike the words of Supervisor Grissom,
in terms of their relationship.

Gil Grissom,

who undresses her with warm hands and
steamy kisses. The same man who has
perfected the art of making her scream
his name into darkened rooms,
making her feel very close to
feeling whole at the same time.

She doesn’t know how much longer she
can keep those three words from spilling
out, along with the bottled-up ghosts,
now that Grissom, Gil,

is everywhere.

--

It's long after the case,
long after the incident,
but the scene still haunts
her.

"All right then.
This was a really bad idea.
I'm sorry."

Sofia, with her wild
eyes and unkempt
blonde hair.

Sofia and Laura
have the same wild eyes,
the same kind of desperation
that wells up inside of them,
the kind that shows through
their eyes.

The eternal stain
of crimson on their
hands, the guilt.

It makes her think about
the company Sofia keeps
(or will keep after this),
the kind of company that never
quite leaves you alone for very long.

And then there’s
Grissom.

The way he looked at
Sofia, with concern and
maybe even a little
discomfort.

It makes her fear
how he’ll look at her
when he finds out she
keeps worse company
in her head than Sofia,
even if they don’t
show in her eyes.

Yet.

She knows who Heather is
and what she deals with
in her business:
latex, domination and pain.

It baffles her, but at least it
shows that there are people
who are, believe it or not,
more haunted than herself.

Before she comes to this realisation
though, Grissom loans her to
the struggling Swing shift on a
dusty Tuesday evening and
she hands over Zoe Kessler’s
file to Greg.

Six hours later, she re-enters the
lab and heads for the locker room,
sweaty and smelling of disinfectant.

“Hey!”

It’s Greg, looking entirely too
chirpy for a person going into his
third shift.

“How was your case?”

She thinks about it for a second.

Messy. Yours?

He gives her a wide-eyed
look.

“Better than primetime.”

Yeah?

“Oh yeah.
A crazy guy trying to
be the next Hitler
and Lady Heather.”

Something slips from her
fingers and hits the cool tiles,
with a ping.

Lady Heather?

“She is Zoe Kessler’s
mother.”

Oh.

“Grissom’s still at the crime
scene. Or so they say,”
he says with a wink, and his
pager beeps.

Catch you later, he mouths
as he leaves her alone in the
darkness.

Heather and Grissom.

Grissom…with Heather?

She bends down to pick
the fallen object:
Grissom's apartment key.

She curses herself for the
hundredth time for leaving her
only key at his place, and has
no choice but to stop over.

He values professionalism too much.

On her way out, she decides to
risk a shower and tries to wash
the disinfectant from her previous
case along with newfound knowledge
from the surface of her skin with
almost scalding water.

Then again, it’s Heather.

And he’s human.

She steps out, pink from the heat,
dresses in record time but before
she reaches the doorknob, it swings
open.

“Sara.”

His tone betrays surprise, and his
clothes, muddy and wrinkled, betray…
what?

Heather.

“She was going to kill him.”

What do you mean?

“She had the suspect tied to
his car, and she was lashing
him with a leather whip.”

She arches an eyebrow, and
she wonders what kind of company
Heather keeps. Maybe they could start
up a group, Ghosts and Demons
Anonymous.

Sofia could join, if she asks
really nicely.

“She was going to kill him,
right in front of my eyes,”

Grissom says, bringing her
mind back to the conversation.

So you saved her?

Surprisingly, there is no bitterness
in her voice, no anger.
It’s cool and detached.

“No,” he says evenly,
“I saved him.”

She’s silent, and he elaborates.

“There are just some people who
can’t be saved, Sara.”

A shiver runs down her spine
but on the outside she doesn’t
bat an eyelid.

“Nothing happened between us.”

She believes him,
but Jealous Sara wants to scream
and rage and hit.
She just inhales deeply
and bites her lip.

His comment still resonates,
and she pushes it away, not
too deep though, because too
deep and they’ll fester into new
ghosts.

It’s okay,

she says finally,
and tastes blood.

It’s not really okay,
but what’s another lie,
another ghost?

Love is strange,
anyway.

It allows her mother to
endure broken arms
and deep bruises.

It allows her to trade clam chowder
and salty air for neon castles and
parched deserts.

It allows her mother to take
a knife to her father.

It allows him to spill his heart
to a murderer.

It’s a mixture of hurt, endurance,
sacrifice, understanding and
passion.

It allows her to
forgive him.

But it perplexes
her, because it
seems nothing
good is born
from love.

She lies in bed,
wonderfully warm after
he shows her, with his
hands and hips, what
he was thinking about
at the lab.

“What is your fantasy?”

he mouths on glistening
skin and she trembles.

“My parents taught me
not to dream. Dreams
get hopes high and
expectations short.”

“You’re saying you’ve
never dreamed?”

She looks at him, and
for the millionth time,
feels herself sink; almost
drown in blue.

It’s the blue of her few
childhood memories
by the beach,
the blue of her pen at the
Forensic Academy Conference,
the blue of the sheets they
made love on for the first time.

“Once.”

His lips brush against her collarbone
and lower.

“And?”

“I dreamed of the perfect blue,”
she breathes. “What’s yours?”

He stops short of her navel
and brings his head up to
meet her eyes.

“Don’t get angry.”

“It depends,” she says
softly, and he lets the
words linger in the air
before he speaks.

“I want to save you.”

She bristles instantly
and pulls herself up.

“Who ever said I need
‘saving’?” she asks,
shaking.

“No one. But there are times…
times where I wish you would
let me in. I want to know the
things you carry in your head,
Sara.”

She shakes her head, pulling
the blanket tighter around her.

“No, you don’t.”

He reaches for her wrist,
feeling life pulse under
translucent skin.

“I love you.”

Brown eyes stare back, wide:
it’s the first time either one of
them has admitted it.

It’s no cause for celebration,
because in her mind, a faded ghost
plays her most feared memory.

“That’s the problem.”

--

Part C

The Drawbacks of Breathing

Sat, 09 May 2009 06:09:47 GMT

Part A of The Drawbacks of Breathing can be found here at Geekfiction.

The Drawbacks of Breathing, Part B

The second part of her curiosity is answered outside a warehouse.
The air is tense,
and she feels
like she’s going
to overheat or freeze.
Seconds trickle by…
and then comes the
blast.

She is mute.

Brass holds her back,
as she struggles and
fights her way into the
warehouse.
Her eyes smart,
her mouth is dry,
and the world is
still.
She is deaf.

Catherine rushes in,
and she wriggles free
from Brass’ grip and into
a different world.
No Grissom;
dust floats around like
dirty glitter and the money
is suspended in the air;
lingers.
She is blind.

We need a paramedic!
Catherine cries out, and
her body becomes jelly.
There is blood everywhere,
and the thought of some
belonging to Grissom
makes her vision swim.
She can stand all of this
for how
                                    long?
                                                            She is paralysed.

Grissom is in one piece,
thankfully,
with just minor scratches
and a large bruise on his
forearm; unaffected eardrums.
She stands by his side,
near enough to smell the
rubbing alcohol but far away
enough to be concealed.
He sees her though, and shakes
his head.
We still don’t have Nick. Let’s get
back to work.
She nods, watching him re-enter the
warehouse, the wooden tomb.
Blast still lingers long
                                    after.
                                                            She is still in love.

She has her answer, and along with it is the realisation she is still
hopelessly,
desperately,
horribly,
wonderfully
in love with Gilbert Grissom.

--

Dull silver                                            water fountain,
stark white                                          walls and
blinding                                               florescent lights.

Someone she loves is fighting
for his life behind anonymous
walls and here she stands,wrecked with guilt.

And she stands, rooted to the
linoleum floor, not as CSI Sidle,
but as six-year-old Sara.

Somewhere behind her,
a door swings open, and
a voice speaks.
“He’s going to be all right.”

Grissom.

CSI Sidle returns,
professional, fatigued and
muddy, trying to hide
scared little Sara.

She doesn’t think she’s
fast enough because
brilliant blue eyes
flicker.

I want to see him.

He shakes his head.
Visiting hours end in
twenty minutes;
Catherine and Warrick
are in there.

Tomorrow?

A nod, and she
finally notices the
sheer exhaustion
behind
glacial blue eyes.

Glacial blue eyes,
pale complexion
and a fine red
gash on his left cheek.

You could have died.

We all could, he says
wearily, and she walks
over to the water fountain
with her mind working overtime
trying to cope with the idea of losing
Grissom.

What do we do now?

She lowers her head
to taste ice-cold metallic
water from the water
fountain, just to keep her
awake.

His footsteps stop
next to the fountain,
and he murmurs something
that almost makes her choke.

“We go for coffee.”

She steps into the car
and settles on an expanse
of creamy leather, nerves
prickly.

He eases out from the
parking lot and onto the
highway. Drives for fifteen
minutes, then turns right.

Where are we going?

For coffee, he explains,
taking a left. The hum of
the engine makes her
fight sleep for control of her
eyelids.

Frank’s is near the Strip,

referring to the team’s favourite
coffee house.
Coffee at my place, he says
and everything starts making sense
but not all at once.

Oh.

Grissom’s townhouse is
muted grey and littered with
framed butterflies and
high-end appliances, from
sound system to kitchenware.

Wow.

He gives her a shadow of
a smile as she perches on
his immaculate couch.

“It’s brewing,”

he sits down next to her.
Near enough to talk,
too far away to
touch.

Grissom—

she starts, stutters, because
she doesn’t know what to say.
He’s looking at her, puzzled,
and she reaches over and runs
a palm over the gash, allowing her
heart to speak.

I’m not very good at words.

She pulls back, but he catches
her wrist and leans in,
closer and closer and closer,
until their lips touch.

“Me neither.”

And
Gilbert Grissom
kisses
Sara Sidle.

One kiss makes two,
two kisses make four,
four kisses make eight,
and eight kisses make a
journey across his home.

“Bedroom,”

he breathes into her neck,
but she can’t reply because
her fingers are busy with his belt
and her mind is in
overdrive.

He pushes her onto his
king-sized bed and slips off
her shirt; fumbles with her bra.

She pulls his shirt, streaked
with soil, off his body and focuses
attention on his boxers.

By now, he’s worshipping ivory
skin with his lips.
Touching, exploring,
tasting.

Enough,

she gasps, removing
the final layer of
clothing but
stops just short of
pleading.

More.

He understands, and
adulates her body with
caresses, thrusts and
moans.

She wants to say she is in
control, but her hips seem
to work to a different rhythm,
as with her voice box.

It’s pleasure, pain,
raw desire and
pure ecstasy.

Sara, he says with
clenched teeth, fighting to
be in control.
It’s useless, because a groan
from her bruised lips shows
them who’s in control.

“Sara!”

She’s as good as done,
first mind,
now body and soul.
She does the only logical thing:
she lets go.

Forever and an hour later,
she rouses next to Grissom,
his rhythmic breathing making
the blanket rise and fall in the
silence.

She eases out from the bed
and walks over to his bathroom.
Sun has drenched the place, and
she stares at herself in his wide
mirror.

Eleven-year-old Sara
is appalled.
Where’s the picket fence,
the kissing in the rain and
the flowers?

Thirty-five-year-old Sara
is sated.
There’s no need for all that
when here she stands,
naked in Grissom’s bathroom,
thoroughly fucked.

Skin glows                             Harlow gold,
cheeks flushed                      fiery pink,
and bruises                            blooming purple.

--

TBC.

--

A/N2: This piece was very much inspired by Ellen Hopkins and the prose she writes in, especially in Crank.

CSI: Sara's Departure

Thu, 09 Apr 2009 14:07:30 GMT

Okay, so these picspams are seriously addictive. I must be a masochist, because as much as Goodbye and Good Luck physically hurt me to watch, it's just so sad and beautiful. Thanks for the memories, Jorja! ~~CSI is crap without you now.~~

I've got my sights set on a happier picspam after this :)

scenes and sequences: The Search For Sara Sidle

Wed, 08 Apr 2009 12:17:00 GMT

I wanted to revive my membership in the fandom (I feel so guilty, GSR fandom!), and this picspam was perfect :) It's for picspammy's current challenge, scenes and sequences. I can never get enough of this scene because it's what got me hooked on GSR ♥

Seven Favourite Movie Characters

Sat, 07 Feb 2009 06:17:11 GMT

From numbers #7 to #1.

A Sara Sidle Picspam!

Thu, 08 Jan 2009 10:33:12 GMT

very image heavy & spoilers.

I am barely coherent after watching 'One To Go'. I'll let this picspam speak on my behalf.

A Grissom Picspam

Wed, 07 Jan 2009 07:35:02 GMT

Warning! Image heavy & spoilers.

Since Grissom's last episode is drawing closer and closer, I've decided to do a picspam on this iconic character I've grown up watching. Enjoy! :)

Memorable Cases:

Grissom: She offers us a new life with her, but we have a big decision to make, right? Because we have to risk everything we've worked for in order to have her.

Grissom: The detail is...
Sofia: --Terrifying.
Grissom: Impressive.

Sara: If one was horrifying... what is two?
Grissom: Possible serial killer.

Grissom: I know what it's like to lose yourself in little things. After awhile, it gets to you.

Grissom: The other three murders, the miniature was left at the scene. This one was addressed to me.
Catherine: So now it's personal?

Grissom: This girl holds me responsible for the death of Ernie Dell. I took away the only person she ever loved, so she's going to do the same thing to me.

Grissom: I'm going to miss him so much.

Relationships:

The Many Shades of Gilbert Grissom

no one understood, but really, they tried.

Fri, 12 Sep 2008 09:10:56 GMT

I am positive that I have:

- an ED
- type A personality
- anxiety disorder

It's last year all over again. Please, let me make it through this.

I am so screwed.

Brendon Urie, you heartbreaker.

Wed, 06 Aug 2008 09:46:44 GMT

Panic at the Disco, you guys are insanely awesome.

The concert started at 8pm, but we left the house at 6.30pm to get good places. While in the car, guess who called? Marisa's mum's friend who said that if we could get there in 20 minutes, we could meet Panic at the Disco backstage :0 I don't know about you, but I've never met a famous person before, and they did not disappoint. Everyone from PatD were insanely nice, except Ryan Ross who was slightly moody cause he was sick. But Brendon Urie, god. He's just so hot. Look at that smile! *melts* And not only is he very easy on the eye, he's also really sweet.

The concert was really good, thank god for airconditioning. Brendon can really sing well live, it wasn't out of tune at all! All of us were having fun, but the five of us were separated - I was with JiahSze while the rest were together somewhere else. I wasn't really paying attention to his singing, just his face :D They sang for around one hour and forty minutes, and it was awesome the entire time. The best was Lying Is The Most Fun A Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off.

The opening act was boring though, everyone was like, PANIC AT THE DISCO!! LOL :)

While we were waiting in the room for them to arrive (before the concert), I wasn't that excited cause even though I liked their music, I wasn't that huge of a fan. They came in, and they were really nice, waving, smiling, everything. Brendon was the most hyper, and Jon was loud, haha. Spencer and Ryan were more quiet, but nice. I had a poster for them to sign, and when it was time to take pictures, I immediately rushed to Brendon, LOL. He is so cute! *melts* See, he even put his arm around me! :)

I had an english test today, and was falling asleep almost the whole time in school today, but every second was worth being there at the concert. Brendon Urie, I love you! :)

*The top picture, from L-R: JiahSze, me, Brendon Urie♥, Jon Walker, JiaYing, Ryan Ross, Melisa, Spencer Smith.

Panic at the Disco performing during the press-conference.

Thu, 31 Jul 2008 09:33:07 GMT

Stay close : paperdollmemoir is coming soon.

friends only.

Thu, 26 Jun 2008 10:50:23 GMT

I'm a cynic at mind but romantic at heart.

Sara.
Malaysian.
Scared of butterflies.
Princess Queen Bitch?
I think I think a lot; think way too much.
Still in school (it never seems to end)
Attends Worrying 101 daily.
My best friends are my
Bitches For Life.
(wanna be one
of them?)

Comment to be added.

Resources

Mon, 16 Jun 2008 05:54:22 GMT

A little list of where I got my textures, screencaps, etc. To the people below, thank you! :)

_icongrapher

superstar

haudvafra

100X100 brushes

ij.indisguise

gsrfan

bea_lost at coloured_skies

csi-caps

tearjerkericons

babliz

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